Welcome to Carista. We are an original fantasy roleplay forum set in the world of Carista -- a place where the eight different systems of control are divided across countries and oceans and blood. The systems of control are Fire, Water, Earth, Wind, Ice, Plant, Health and Time -- all given to humanity in ages past.

Now, during a golden age throughout the kingdoms, rumors have come of the Loners discovering an ancient building deep underground that contains a legendary Relic that may hold the key to ultimate power or destruction. And so the race of kingdoms begin with the prize being a Relic of untold power...

Affiliate With Us

Our Affiliates

The plots and creative work of the site are thanks to Delilah and Vulcan. The graphics and skin are custom made by Delilah for Carista.

The Panels were inspired by the staff system on Bloodrites.net

All written role play content belongs to the designated writer.

Carista is PG-13 with all M+ threads in forums only seen by 18+ year old members.

Scoldings

It had all started several weeks prior when Abbey heard whispers - whispers mentioning a certain 'servant' approaching the infamous Kelly Gray without the appropriate bowed head and metaphorical tail between legs. At first, she had scowled and squinted, trying to think if she knew anyone with the stomach for such an encounter. And when she could not think of anyone, her mind drew to someone with the capacity for drunkenness required for such an encounter. When she next heard whispers of that nauseating tale, she could not help the sudden scowl.

Damn that Wright! she thought bitterly.

As soon as she had the time to break off from her usual duties, she sent for the man. One mousy servant rushing out of the castle with a message in mind would draw very little attention, if any. The boy Abbey sent was well used to running messages. Once he reached the man, he wouldn't speak - he would use the wind to carry his message, run some bogus errand, and return. Abbey, all the while, would put on a face and pretend that she wasn't fuming. Another few days of keeping herself together, she told herself, though it did nothing to abate her anger. Though calm and composed in the presence of royalty, and whatever guests said royalty summoned, the old woman seethed the moment she entered the sanctuary of the servant's quarters. She had plenty of time to consider what degree of rage was appropriate.

A very high degree of rage.

When the day came, the old woman made sure another trusted servant took her place. She left a list of chores to be completed, along with the usual directions for the servants to do their work - rebellion or no, the castle itself needed tending to. Donning a light coat before leaving, more to keep the sun off than to hide her face, she exited the castle. She knew exactly where she was going, when she would arrive, and what would happen when she got there: Brion's office, fifty-two minutes, a scolding. Her cousin was well aware of her intention to visit (and squawk at another rebel in his back room), along with her affiliations. The only thing that kept a genuine smile on her face was the thought that he would be waiting, holding a small pouch of medicines to alleviate her aches.

The advantage of being a servant, rather than a noble, was the disinterest of the various people she passed. Few civilians knew her by face, and even fewer knew her by name. Those who recognized her knew her as the doctor's ill cousin, come for a family discount. She let herself into the office, allowing her cousin a polite greeting and a warm smile.

"Hello Brion."

"Hello Abbey."

"Has Mr. Wright arrived?"

Brion paused. His face flashed with what Abbey knew to be uncertainty. Whatever was behind the door to the back room, Abbey was certain she wouldn't like it. It could be nothing - Wright could be sitting patiently at the table, he could be dead in a ditch, and the whole thing could be a trap. She trusted her cousin to give her a better warning than a flash of teeth and click of his tongue, however.

She entered the back room, casually taking a seat at the table. It was an oddly warm room for the occasion: well lit, not too barren, not too crowded. Brion knew better than to put Abbey in a messy room when she was in a foul mood.

After a killer hangover complete with vomiting and dizzy stumbling, Callum was sure that he had paid for his poor decisions the night of the little party. Looking back, he probably shouldn’t have drank as much as he did, shouldn’t have talking to the Gray Wolf, and most certainly he should not have done both of them in the same night. But hey, when did he do the things he was supposed to? Hardly ever. Well, that wasn’t true either. He was very, very good at running messages. In fact, for someone of his classification even, he might even be considered one of the best in his little corner of the Rebellion. Whispering at a distance was a little more difficult, especially a large distance such as what might span between two distant towns, but with his brother at the receiving end, or someone else he was use to, he could still make his words carry silently until they landed on on particular set of ears. It was this fine skill of his which probably kept him in the Rebellion even past his faults. Well, that and his ability to stalk through a city for deliveries like a small child might.

However, in spite of these talents of his, his drinking and his obvious distaste for certain Royalist pigs usually got him in his fair share of trouble with his superiors. At first, it was just a few slaps on the wrist and he was sent on his way. However, in the recent years, his punishments came from even higher up. Not quite from the top, from a man only known by a single letter, but almost. Abigail Moore had been the rod recently. While on the outside, she looked as if she could have been someone’s sweet mother, she was in fact an iron fist inside a woman’s body. At least to Callum. It wasn’t so much that he was afraid of her, he just hated their reasonings for talking mainly.

Thus, when he received a message delivered by a servant from the castle, Callum groaned. As sick as he was for the entirety of the day following the party with the Gray Wolf, Errol had taken the message for him, tipping the servant the usual copper for giving the message to Muscles over Brains. Whenever Callum was summoned, Errol usually took the messages anyway. There would’ve been no way for Call to have had the capacity for remembering all of those words or even the fact that a message was delivered anyway, not when he was that hungover. The servant always tried to Whisper a message to him anyway, and it just never went well.

After a few days to collect himself, the time had come to meet the mother of the Rebellion, so to speak. He was to meet her in the usual spot - a doctor’s office. What was the man’s name? Oh yes, Brion. The man never seemed to comfortable having Callum in his office, though it never appeared that he meant any harm by it. Arriving that particular day, Brion acted no differently. As usual, Call was late, but he had a legitimate excuse this time. There was a small riot outside the bakery that had been closed to members who were accused of conspiring with the Rebellion for near two weeks now, and the people were growing restless. Callum just couldn’t walk by a riot like that, he had to join in his own little way, which happened to be Whispering into the ear of the daughter of the Baker that people were starving. It was she who then opened the doors, in spite of her father, to the public. He’d have to remember to tell Abbey that. Surely creating peace would help his case with whatever she was planning on bringing up that day. While, he was sure it had to do with the party, he had no intensions of telling her anything more than she brought up herself. He had made that mistake before, not again.

Hands shoved in his pockets, Callum Wright walked whistling through the main door of the building. Seeing Brion, he stopped whistling and smiled widely.

“Well hey there, Brion! Is the the ol’ lady here yet?”

Brion rolled his eyes and murmured something under his breath as he lumbered to to back room, motioning for Callum to enter. The red head did so, immediately rolling up his sleeves as the warm air hit him. Did it always have to be so warm back here. Moving to roll up the other sleeve, he strode into the room and took a seat across from the woman who certainly did not look very happy to see him.

“Good day to you too, Abbey,” he chuckled, rather sarcastically, as he adjusted himself in the simple chair. “What can I do for you today?”

The room was empty. At first, Abbey thought to return to Brion and ask him why, but she thought better of it. Wherever the insufferable fool was, it wasn't Brion's fault. She waited patiently in the back room, her face hardening like steel. She kept reminding herself, it wasn't Brion's fault, she would have to scold Callum for that as well.

And then the man finally stepped through the door. To Abbey's exasperation, it was the front door. She could hear the man greeting her cousin - rudely too! Her expression hardened as she watched the man enter the room, greeting her all too casually as he took a seat. She paused. She needed air. She took a deep, heavy breath of air before sighing it all out. She was not going to cause a ruckus in Brion's office. She was not going to cause a ruckus in Brion's office.

With every ounce of restraint she possessed, she kept her voice even as she said, "Do you think this is a joke?"

She expected some dim response, but whatever it was, she didn't care. Possibly interrupting him, and whatever glorious excuse he surely had in store, she gestured broadly to the back door. "Do you realize how dangerous it is for Brion to lend us this room? Spirits, Wright, use the back door!"

In truth, insisting that rebels use Brion's back door was somewhat paranoid. Properly paranoid, that was, it wouldn't be the first time some hapless rebel was snatched out of a meeting and hauled off to spirits-know-where. It wouldn't be the first time some sympathizer with an open basement or room had been dragged away either. But it was most certainly not happening to Brion.

Spirits, she was getting distracted! She straightened out, facing the insufferable man. She interlocked her fingers and rested her hands on the table, attempting to keep herself from thinking about the inappropriate entrance on Wright's part. There were more pressing matters. "I assume you know what this is about, but in case you've conveniently forgotten," she pulled a small slip of paper from her coat pocket, unfolded it, and read. "Several guests to the palace have noted a red-haired servant approaching Kelly Gray, insulting him, speaking treason against the Queen, vomiting in a flower pot," she glared at the man, "and pouring wine on his shoes."

Call raised an eyebrow at Abbey’s rhetorical question, or at least he assumed it was rhetorical. There was no way he was stupid enough to answer that one. With Abbey in this kind of mood, there was rarely a correct answer. She was likely more pissed off than usual seeing how he was late, but really, she shouldn’t expect anything more. She knew very well who she was dealing with, didn’t she? Meh. Callum let his raised eyebrow fall as Abbey gestured to the back door of the building, commenting that he aught to use the backdoor to help keep their meeting a secret, or at least, something like that. Callum had a hard time paying attention.

Leaning forward in his chair, he set his elbows on the table between them. Letting her finish and take a breath, he let his eyes shoot to the back door and then back to her.

“Come now, Abbey,” he started, the skin around his eyes beginning to wrinkle as he smiled, “I think you are overreacting a bit. I am assuming, like usual, you came through the back door, yes?” Not waiting for her to respond, he continued, “Now, if the building were being watched, what do you think would look more suspicious: both of us coming through the back door or you through the backdoor and I through the front? There is no evidence for an onlooker now. I very well could be coming for the services on Brion back there, and you to meet him in secret.” Folding his hands together on the table, he leaned back in his chair again. “Com’n, Abbey, sneaking around in public is one of my skills. Trust me, I know how to hide in plain sight when someone is starring directly at me.” Skills he had kept since his childhood. Perhaps it had something to do with his childish personality, and perhaps it had something to do with practice, it didn’t really matter. “It’s simple, really, and you know I’m right. Different doors and different entrance and exit times, that is how to sneak around when someone is looking for you. This is what I do.” While he didn’t say it, it was implied that Abbey was paranoid and in unfamiliar territory. She could hide in the castle, right under the bitch Queen’s nose, because she was a servant, but they were in his territory now.

Settling his hands in his lap, he crossed one leg over the other and listened as Abbey got to the point of their meeting. Pulling out his sliver flask -- a gift from his bother- he took a swig, the vodka coating his throat. Taking another swig, he choked on it as Abbey finished her list. Callum capped his flask and returned it to his jack to take the list from his superior.

“Well hot damn,” he murmured, reading the list. There were some people that apparently had a mind to up his reputation and make him seem like more of an idiot than he actually was. He did have red hair and he most certainly approached the Gray Wolf at that party, but the rest was entirely fabricated, entirely! Okay, well, maybe the flower pot thing was true. Even with the foggy memory of the morning after that party, he was pretty sure that there was the taste of dirt in his mouth, which could have easily been from a flower pot. But the other things were entirely fabricated.

His eyes flickered from the list to Abbey. “Come on, you don’t really think I did all of this stuff, do you?” Looking back to the list he placed it on the table. Pointing at the first item, he shrugged, “I was posing as a servant that night, the usual, and the Gray Wolf needed a wine glass.” Looking to Abbey he gave a strained smile, “So I was a good boy and offered him one. Then he insulted me, well, the servant me, I said nothing unkind to him.” There was the comment about Gray imprisoning innocent people, but that wasn’t really insulting him, just stating a fact. Moving his finger down the list, he continued, “Hell, I certainly did not bring up that bitch of a Queen,” his eyes hardened as he looked to Abbey, “You know I’m not that stupid. My mouth won’t stop once I start on that heartless excuse for an Ignisian. If I started on the Queen, I wouldn’t be here, my head would either be separated from my body or I’d be in the Gray Wolf’s holding room.” His voice dropped in pitch. “I very much dislike being accused of things I did not do, Miss Moore.”

Growling, Callum shoved the paper towards the older woman and stood quickly, his chair making an unpleasant sound against the floor. Was someone setting him up in the Rebellion, someone who disagreed with the drastic methods in which he used and suggested to be used against the tyrant of the Kingdom? Or perhaps these were just typical rumors that were blown out of proportion. However, something was nudging his thoughts to go back to the idea that he was being set up. Realizing that he was pacing, he stopped and ran a hand through his already disheveled hair. This was frustrating, and he about had enough of it.

Turning, he placed his hands flat on the table and looked down at his superior. “I did not blow my cover once, no one in their right mind would have suspected my to be a member of the Rebellion. Hell, I bet Ardent blew her cover more than I did, amongst other things," he grumbled, knowing Ardent’s method for obtaining information, knowing very well. “Look, Abbey, I was there, I was drinking, I spoke to the Gray Wolf briefly, and I left. There may have been a flower pot involved, but the rest is bull shit, absolute bull shit.” Sitting again, he took out his flask and nearly dumped the contents into his mouth.

Making faces. Elbows on the table. Tipping the chair back. Callum had no manners to speak of, and it irked Abbey. She watched, her face contiually hard as he went on his spheel. Abbey hadn't gone through the back door; she'd entered through the front. After all, it was far more believable that Brion's old cousin would come to visit in the small hours of the morning than some stranger. She let him finish, and flatly said, "I enter through the front door. You enter through the back."

As always she was stern - it was like dealing with a small, unruly child. Spirits, it was like dealing with her brothers! She watched as Callum read over the note, and stiffened at the glint of a flask. He was drinking during the meeting. Her lips twitched. She glared at him, even as he choked and pocketed the flask. Did he have no sense? And then he tried to defend himself, again. He asked her if she really thought he did all of that - and to be honest, she found a fair deal believable. Perhaps he didn't do all of those things - he was right. His head would be mounted on a wall, if he was lucky. But Abbey had not accused; only restated the rumors.

"It doesn't matter what you did or did not do," Abbey said, her patience thin. "What matters is what people remembered of you. That they remembered you at all. It's not your job to make an impression; it's your job to stay hidden. Clearly," she snapped, "You're not as skilled as you think you are."

The second he mentioned Ardent, she snorted. "Davenport is not my primary concern right now." And then he admitted to drinking, which only served to make Abbey angrier. The old woman watched as he downed the rest of his flask, too stunned (and furious!) to respond. She gathered herself; she could not believe how tactless he was. She expected this from the adolescent boys, not the men.

She twitched, gathered herself, and shot tightly wound wind at his ears - preferably inside of them. Enough to give him a good start, and hopefully make him drop the flask. If he choked, he derserved it. Drinking in front of a superior - while working! "What were you thinking?"

She thought to the servants she had removed from the castle - the ones she purposefully kept away from the Queen at all hours. They would at least admit to a lack of control, and promise to keep their distance. She glanced at the list; sure enough, she had noted his drinking. "You were posing as a servant, not the village idiot! Do you think servants drink on the job?" she scowled at him. "I'd have had you removed for that sort of conduct!"

Removed from the castle? Not drastic enough. Abbey would have had him removed from Searik.

It was rare for the old woman to be so angry. But she was, as many rumors told, married to the rebellion. And it infuriated her that he could not even pretend to have shame.

Callum sighed. Of course she did, and of course she would, and there he went running his mouth and making a fool out of himself. He would kick himself later, but had a feeling this woman was about to do it enough for the both of them.

“Sorry, Abbey, my mistake. It’s been so long since we’ve had to talk, I must have forgotten.”

There was nothing more for him to say on that matter; at this point, the less he said the better since it appeared that the woman with a stick up her ass didn’t give two shit about what he did and did not do. Rubbing the back of his neck, he still had to fight the urge to further defend himself, or rather, convince the woman that the outside world was nothing like the castle. In a town, someone who was seen often and known was less likely to be looked upon, well rather, they were more likely to be liked and befriended and thus smaller things ignored. Even when Callum got his ass into bigger messes than he appreciated with Loyalist around his home, there were non-Rebels who cheered him on and bought him a beer for standing up for himself. They didn’t do so because they thought he was a member of the Rebellion, they did so because they thought him to be a normal person, just like them. However, no matter how tempted he was to bring it up that the people of the town knew him and thus they were more likely to fabricate and alibi in their heads for this little encounter -assuming that they saw him in the first place- he would not. Abbey wasn’t likely to believe him anyway, or care.

“It doesn't matter what you did or did not do. What matters is what people remembered of you. That they remembered you at all. It's not your job to make an impression; it's your job to stay hidden. Clearly, you're not as skilled as you think you are."

Callum clenched his jaw. What would get him in trouble would be trying to hide from this, trying to make himself invisible, not making people remember him. Callum wasn’t a shady, stalk in the dark kind of spy. He was a public, let’s get drunk at the tavern and talk about rumors and secrets kind of spy, who then passed this information off to someone else if needed. Sure, he did his fair share of snooping and what have you, but it was far from his specialty. He enjoyed running messages local people, and especially enjoyed getting paid for it. There was some information picked up in this way, but more so from the responses he got from his clients and friends. They knew him, they trusted him. No one would trust an invisible man.

"Davenport is not my primary concern right now."

His eyes rolled beneath closed lid. Of course she wasn’t, Ardent never got in trouble because she did the “right” things the “right” way. It was obnoxious. Call was like the little step-child that could do nothing right even though he got what he needed done, and was damn good at it too. Not the Abbey ever not-- What the fuck?! Hands flew up to the side of his head, as if he could stop the force of wind that had shot into his ear. Nose wrinkled and eyebrows low, he nearly growled at Abbey. Even his flask was clenched in his hand, ready to be thrown at her if she dared do it again. What was the fucking woman thinking? Oh, let’s deafen one of our long distance Whispers, that’s a fucking good idea! Only his self control kept him from lashing out at her, either physically, verbally, or elementally.

"What were you thinking? You were posing as a servant, not the village idiot! Do you think servants drink on the job? I'd have had you removed for that sort of conduct!"

While he had held his tongue the first time, Brains wasn’t feeling too bright in terms of his self preservation at that moment, otherwise he would’ve apologized and moved on. Yeah, that wasn’t happening. He didn’t need the Rebellion to live and have a purpose, like she did. Sure, it gave him more resources to get things done, like killing the Queen, but he wasn’t so emotionally attached to it to think that he should sit like a dog with his tail between his legs while mama bear hear lectured him. Sure, he knew how to get out of this is he needed to.

“Oh, I am dreadfully sorry that I did not perform to your liking, ma’am,” he growled, voice dripping with sarcasm, “I do promise to do better next time, if you give me another chance.” His gaze darkened. “I do my job, and I do it well. I get results, and without lowering my self standard and acting like someone else. Do you know why people trust me, Miss Moore, do you?” He pulled the chair away from the table and pushed it aside, putting his hands on the table itself. “Because I am genuine. If you ask any normal person about, hell, you could even ask more Loyalists about me and do you know what a majority of them would say? That they like me, that we’ve had a few beers at the pub together. I need to be remembered, to be noticed, to be talked about. How the hell do you think I get all the information I pass on, the information that I am sure eventually reaches your ears -- sneaking around as a nameless servant at a party, never giving a soul a reason to notice him?” Callum backed away from the table and walked away, trying to cool off slightly, “Hell no. I mean, with hair like this and Musc--Errol by my side, we are always remembered no matter what we do. But I am smart enough to work that to my advantage, and you know it.” He was pacing quickly now, not even looking at his superior for more than a glance. Stopping, he turned replaced the chair at the table, leaving his hands on the back. “If you want a man that snoops in the dark, ruffles through papers, and is never known, that isn’t me. I get my rumors and information first hand, from the source, either by word of mouth because people trust me, or by running messages, the important ones I only get because people trust me.” He raised and eyebrow. “Even some of the Loyalist pigs trust me, Abbey. So go ahead, tell me I need to be a shadow on the wall, nothing more. Go ahead, tell me that I need to be like every other informant and Whisperer you have in the Rebellion.”

With a sigh, he ran his hands through his hair and let them sit on his neck for a moment before he sat down. “Look, Abbey, this isn’t the castle and I am not a servant. If every member of the Rebellion did everything the same way, we’d never get anywhere. Sure, I have my faults, as does everyone, but sitting here scolding me because I didn’t do it the way you would have doesn’t do any good. It’s frustrating - for both of us. Wouldn’t you rather hear what I am going to do about it? Or even give me suggestions?”

Unused to the bold, brash behavior of the Whisper before her, Abbey paused. She let him speak, if only because she was caught off guard. She hadn't expected him to be so defensive, so adamant. And if she believed that things were always as he described them, with him being the epicenter of some massive camadirie, then she would have gone easier on him. But she was less concerned with his usual conduct - how one behaved while hunting rumors was different from how one behaved while incognito. Abbey was always incognito, always in the dragon's den, his maw, and had no time for such luxuries as friends. But she could make polite conversation. She could listen to tales which made her nauseated, yet simply nod and lightly praise the tale-teller. She had few friends, but even fewer enemies.

To her mind, Callum was missing, or dodging, the point. She was not scolding him because she enjoyed scolding rebels. On the contrary, she wished she had the time to relax with them, to bother knowing them on a personal level (besides what she knew of the servants due to the constant close quarters). It was stunning how little she knew of other rebels, and in a way she envied Callum's position. Aside from his newfound predicament of being recognizable to the Gray Wolf; she would never envy that. She knew that Errol had also attended the party, but she did not remember rumors about him, except perhaps for those mentioning the existence of a very large, mustachioed servant who recommended some foul-tasting wine. From the same man who had asserted he caught Wright pouring wine on the Gray Wolf's shoes, she heard that he was abandoned by Ms. Davenport. Abbey would not blame her, Humphery was absolutely revolting.

"You are missing the point," she finally said, staring at the red-head. "It's one thing for your neighbors to know you on a personal level, it's another thing completely for the crowd who are now gossiping about you over tea." Speaking of tea, she needed some. She was getting a headache; all the snapping and the yelling and the just Callum by spirits! She took a deep breath. She could have tea later. She would ask Brion. She would make it herself if she had to. For now, Callum had asked her for suggestions. "If you want advice, you'll find I've little personal experience in this sort of thing. However," she thought back to her brothers, back when they were young, and so unruly that they had been expelled from the castle grounds, "I would suggest you keep your nose clean. And by Spirits, don't disguise yourself if you won't be able to act the part."

She cupped her face in her hands, briefly, taking another deep breath to regain her composure. As she removed her hands, she smiled. She would give him a suggestion, all right. "You know, frivolous as Julianna is, she has fine taste in tea. She recently asked those in the kitchen to retrieve peach blossom tea - it's lovely."

She knew this would irritate Callum; to what extent she did not know. It would give her a hint to whether or not he had the slightest bit of restraint.

"I asked Brion to get some a few months prior; would you like to try?"

For someone who claimed to be relateable, she hoped he didn't pout about being offered the favorite tea of a monarch he hated. In truth, Julianna had not cared much for the tea. It was a gift from some schmoozer.

Callum sighed and leaned back in his chair. Of course he was missing the point, or rather her point. Honestly, he really really had a hard time caring. Nothing she would say would make him change his mind or his ways, and honestly, if she were out in the field, she would be next to useless anyway. This only made it even harder to care what she said. It was all he could do not to roll his eyes and to continue listening.

“It's one thing for your neighbors to know you on a personal level, it's another thing completely for the crowd who are now gossiping about you over tea."

This time, Callum did roll his eyes. Crowds had been gossiping about him over drinks since he was a teen, so this was nothing new to him, and it was something he could easily turn to his advantage. “Typically, for you, I assume that this is a bad thing, Miss Moore. However,” he reached for his flask, but remembering it was empty, stopped mid-motion and let his hand fall back to the table. He needed a bigger one for trips such as this. “I think I can work this to my advantage, and easily.” Crossing his left leg over his right, he smiled widely. “There are plenty of people that saw me at that party, and plenty of people who I could use for this. Destroying the informant’s reputation, discrediting any other rumors of my that I dislike, discrediting rumors of others, even, would be done easily using the situation I have found myself in.”

Looking away from her, his eyes feel to his hands where he became oddly interested in the condition of his fingernails. He was a biter and a picker, and they were already picked entirely too short, to the point where they were sore and hurt at any further touch, but he began picking at his pinky nail anyway. “Though, I doubt you care what I could do with the rumors. Your point will, as always, be to keep myself out of any rumor that could even remotely tie me to the Rebellion in any way shape or form, correct?” He did not expect an answer.

“However, I would suggest you keep your nose clean. And by Spirits, don't disguise yourself if you won't be able to act the part."

“It wasn’t a disguise that was meant to be what you think. It is no secret that Muscles and I don’t make much. Taking up odd jobs here and there is what is expected of us, and I acted just the way I normally act, so honestly, it is likely to be less suspicious than you think.” Looking up from his nails, he offered a crooked grin. “Seriously, Miss Moore, this rumor is much less serious than you think when you take in all the facts.” He shrugged. “But that is all I can really say, though I doubt it will ease your mind.”

"You know, frivolous as Julianna is, she has fine taste in tea. She recently asked those in the kitchen to retrieve peach blossom tea - it's lovely."

As much as Callum wanted to explode of this sudden change in subject, his quick wit stopped him before he could snort outloud. Considering where the conversation was prior, he did not trust the woman to suddenly have an interest in a casual conversation concerning tea. He also did not underestimate the woman’s wit; she knew his temper when it came to the bitch Queen, and she usually knew better than to bring the harpy up to him. She was playing at something, he could smell it. So instead of rising to the bait, he raised an eyebrow and looked back to his nails.

“Is that so.” Not a question, just a statement to let her know he heard her, and to let her know that he didn’t give two shits about that damn Queen’s taste, but in a polite, veiled manner.

[i]"I asked Brion to get some a few months prior; would you like to try?"[/i\

He glanced up at Abbey from across the table. She really was baiting him. “I am not a fan of tea unless I can dump it out and replace it with a drink of my own.” Shrugging, his shoulder slightly stiff from keeping in his bitch Queen induced rage, he looked back down at his hands. “Though considering you asked Brion to get the tea a few months ago, I would say that either you suggested that the Kitchens stock the tea it is apparent you already were familiar with, or you are just trying to bait me.” He smiled cooly. “I have a temper, but I am not an idiot.”

"It wasn't a disguise what was meant to be what you think," Callum defended. It was predictable - he hadn't taken responsibility for anything since he stopped in. Not for being late. Not for taking time out of his day to speak to a dangerous man. Not even for drinking in front of her. "Seriously, Miss Moore, this rumor is much less serious than you think when you take in all the facts."

Abbey stared at Callum, speechless in a way. From Callum's words, she wondered if he had actually taken the time to be hired legitimately, or if he had simply stolen a uniform. He seemed to imply the former, which begged the question, "Who in their right mind would have hired you to serve wine to royalists? By spirits, Callum, were you actually hired or did you sneak in?"

Certainly no one competent would have hired Callum. Abbey herself was beginning to question whose brilliant idea it was to let him anywhere near a crowd of affluent royalists.

Shockingly, to Abbey at least, Callum was able to maintain his temper. He realized that she was baiting him - she had not paused to consider her words. She took note, sighing deeply. She was losing her mind. A slip like that in front of a guest, in front of a general, and she could very well be in the same situation as Callum was now. Only rather than finding herself at the mercy of a superior, she believed she would sooner find herself in a dungeon.

"I may have a temper, but I am not an idiot."

Putting those thoughts out of her head - after all, they were not useful in her current purpose - she stood from her chair and placed her gaunt, veiny hands flat on the table. "Do you think there's any difference?" She stood erect, crossing her arms sternly over her bust. In their line of work, there was no difference. Snapping at a superior earned punishment or demotion. Snapping at an enemy earned far, far worse. "Say you have an outburst," she glared at him, "Like the one you already had. You're picked up, and you're-"

She paused as the door opened. Brion stood in the doorway, holding a tea cup in each hand. He glanced over the pair in the room, fidgetted briefly, set a glass of tea on the table and walked out.

"Thought you might need that."

He closed the door behind him - he could not seem to get out quickly enough. She glanced back to Callum. She did not wonder what the doctor meant.